Suck It Shakespeare!
by The Evil Duchess
Summary: At one end of the spectrum is the drama club, putting on an entirely student-produced Romeo and Juliet. The other end, a group of outcasts in danger of repeating sophomore year... unless they help with the school play. Worlds will collide.
1. OC FORM!

**NOT TAKING ANYMORE OCS!!!**

**Here's my bad ass (and totally creative) OC form:**

**Name:**

**Gender:**

**Age:**

**Looks:**

**Clothes:**

**Likes: **

**Dislikes:**

**Hobbies/Talents:**

**Friends:**

**Enemies:**

**Crush (Christophe is taken...maybe): **

**Bio:**

**Other:**


	2. Crime and Punishment

**Indigo: The *reads cue card* E...Evil Duchess doesn't own South Park.**

**Evil Duchess: Or the other OCs.**

**Indigo: But she...does own Indigo Kelly, and w-will do whatever she likes with him. Which will probably involve unicorns. And the Celtics. **

**A/N: And so begins the plot! Let's see were it goes, shall we? Oh, and just so no one gets confused, this is my little Indy narrating the first chapter. **

* * *

You know what started this mess? The first domino that fell? The first monkey that thought up crap throwing?

Physical _fucking_ Education.

Oh, yeah, laugh now, it just sounds _so _darn silly, doesn't it? Well m'friend…I'm about as silly as a heart attack.

Look at Gandhi; you think he ever won a game of dodge ball? Look at Stephen Hawking. Look at Aretha Franklin. Look at Gerald from My Chemical Romance; no way _he'd_ swim a lap, his eyeliner might smudge. All bad at Gym Class. All important and intelligent figures in our society.

Now look at George W. Bush. A-Rod. Chris Brown. _Mussolini_ for chrissakes. All good at Physical, ahem, "Education." All assholes.

PE is why the world sucks. PE is why loud, stupid douche bags exist. PE is why I ended up in room F13.

But, here's an odd idea, let's start at the beginning.

* * *

My name is Indigo Peter Kelly. My hair matches my name. I'm fifteen, the result of a catholic upbringing (I have three brothers...damn pope), in love with the epic art of cinema, and I attend South Park Elementary. No, I'm not especially stupid; it's just that the mayor refused to spend any cash on a high school. They just built more extensions on the old building. Which I think costs even more money but… this town's weird like that.

Today was just like any other day. I went to school, forgot my locker combination, ate lunch with the other John Does (guys so ordinary they don't even have names), and slept through my classes, dreaming about getting my hands on a copy of _Sid and Nancy. _Terrific movie, Alex Cox is awesome.

But then, as the last bell rang an announcement came on.

"_Will these student's please go to room F13 immediately." _ I paused, "_ Christophe DeLorne, Kenny McCormick, Indigo Kelly, Clyde Donovan, Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak, Damien Thorne, Constance Valentine, Jess Skidmore, Vivi Sykes, Sunday Jones, Lucy Montgomery, Rylee Royce, Angela Roy."_

Shit. Shitty-Shit-Shit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. I groaned and started for the three flights of stairs leading to the classroom. F13 is a freaky place. It's on the very top floor and since the architectural design is more then lacking, juts out like a window box. It also shakes and if to many students are on one side the whole thing could snap off. Believe me, it's happened. Also when Mr. Mackey wants to inspire A.K.A punish A.K.A bore-everyone-to-death, guess where he takes them? Shit. Shit Shit...Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell did I do?

I take a deep breath as I reach the door and clasp the knob. I walk into the room and gasp. There's got to be a fucking mistake. Why have I been lumped in with all these weirdos. Hippies, criminals, emos, jocks, pervs,...and that guy over there just flipped me off!

"Uh..hello Mr. Kelly, m'kay." Mr. Mackey himself, freakishly large head and rail-thin body, is in the front of the room. He motions for me to take the only unoccupied desk, next to some chain-smoking kid with dark bags under his eyes and a shovel sticking out of his backpack. He snarled at me.

"M'kay students, you all most be wondering why you're here." A few murmurs went through the room. "It's because everyone of you is failing one or more classes, m'kay, and have shown unsatisfactory behavior, m'kay." A girl in the back, who's hair was completely ink-black with the exception of bright red sidebangs, giggled.

Double shit. I know why I'm here now. P stupid-douche E. Not only do I completely suck at it, there's the issue of my two-hour "bathroom breaks" and that whole month I "lost" my uniform. Also the rope climbing incident were I- nevermind. God damnit, I didn't know there'd be consequences! It's PE! Who the hell cares about PE?

Mr. Mackey is still rambling, "Mmmmm'kay. So the teachers and I have come to a solution, m'kay. All of you, starting tomorrow, will be part of the drama club's entirely student produced play. Or else, m'kay, you will not graduate to 11th grade. Meet in this room after school." Then, in an afterthought, 'Mmmm'kay."

Suddenly activity explodes all around me. "Sheet." Shovel-Boy growls. Clyde Donovan, second string quarterback, is thumping his head against the desk, Vivi Sykes, the sunny girl in my science class who refused to dissect anything, is twirling a red-violet pigtail and consoling a groaning, pretty blonde with one orange streak in her hair. Jess Skidmore, who's hot in a sk8er grrl way, has a smirk on her face as Kenny McCormick (who due to his bank account SHOULD be grossly unpopular...but isn't) whispers into her ear. Red-bangs and the guy who gave me the finger (my does that sound kinky) are having an argument. I hear "-zilla". The others are in assorted states of shock, fury, and boredom.

This is going to be a long production.

**

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I know, I know, not a lot of OCs were mentioned. But I want to split them up evenly in the drama club, kids who are failing, ect. Be patient my pretties, they'll all get a chance to shiiiiiiiine. **


	3. First Rule of Drama Club?

**Disclaimer: I don't own South Park!!! Or the OCs!!!**

**A/N: Howdy-ho! If anyone has comments/critique/questions don't be afraid to pm me (or mention it in a review). I love all of that stuff...seriouslah. **

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**Lucky Day POV**

I am a drama nerd and proud. I've been in the plays, painted scenery, constructed sets, and calmed the occasional weepy actress.

I also must follow the most important rule of Geekdom: **STAY INSIDE YOUR CLIQUE AT ALL TIMES. **If they don't know what a "green room" is, chances are you will not be socializing with 'em. Which, in my honest opinion, is sort of....stupid. But I don't want to cause any conflicts between the group and me. Everyone is already stressed enough, what with "Romeo and Juliet" sucking so damn much. Stage manager quit, we have no props, no stage, and haven't even _casted _the thing yet (due to the fact we have barely any members). Not to mention, Big Gay Al (our flamboyant director) and his hubby Mr. Slave moving to AFRICA to start a program for gay children. Now all the club does is argue, argue, argue.

As I worked on my essay for Honors English my instant messenger pinged.

**sKiTTles: ****ARGH!! prob :(((((( **

That's Rhiannon, my rainbow-haired, All Time Low lovin', scene dressing friend. Impossible to dislike that girl. After all, without her we'd have no music.

**LUK-KID: **?

**sKiTTles: ****mr mackey is a asshole!!!!! RAWR!**

**LUK-KID: **??????

**sKiTTles: ****u no how we need moar actors? and bakstage crew??**

**LUK-KID:** Wat? Wat did he do???!!!

**sKiTTles: he made the JUVIES do it!! THE WANGSTAS!!! **

I was just about to respond when another message came up. This time it was Butters, our hair and makeup guy (oh, shut up).

**Hello!Kitty: **Lucky, Mr. Mackey wants us to team up with the bad kids. They're so scary!

Then, next was Nikki Alley, she may look like a cutie but do not mess with her.

**Foxa*Nicka: _santa came early. _**

Pretty soon my screen was filled with different conversations from half the club, each repeating the same scandal. It was actually quite frightening.

**iva~giraffe: **_poor people. _

**iva~giraffe: **_real life poor people._

**(Che)rry: **oh **well.**

Kyle, Stan, Pip and Token won't like it either, they get enough crap about being in the drama club, now they have to be in the drama club plus the psychos. I get a message from Marisa, who's so pretty it's uncomfortable.

**sparkleysossani: **s_oooo not what I signed up 4 :( stupid mr.m!!!!!_

Is it wrong that I'm excited?

At school it's all anyone will talk about. Lurin "Larry" Horatio nudges me during math, "I swear, I'm going to cast a spell on that fool! Grouping us with those guys. One of them is Damien Thorne!" She gathers her curly blond hair in a ponytail, "People say I'm weird....He worships the devil!"

I roll my eyes, "Thats probably just a rumor."

"No! He said to me 'I worship Satan, want to help?'."

Stan, who overheard us, turns around. His blue eyes are flaming and his black hair is adorably out of place. Crap! Did I say adorably? I meant, um, messily. "And another one is that asshole Craig!" Stan and Rhiannon have been holding a grudge against Craig since he quit their band "The Killer Klowns".

Larry nods, "I bet they're dangerous."

"Damn straight!"

"Um..."

They both look at me.

"I mean..yeah!"

* * *

**Jess Skidmore POV**

It's day two of Wait In The Wobbly Room and the fun of it is starting to ebb away. Mr. Mackey has told us every freaking knock-knock joke known to man. Also the longer we wait the lower Kenny's hand on my back gets. Ten more minutes and he'll have achieved the goal of touching my ass. Sunday Jones and Angela Roy, both sitting on my desk and completely oblivious to the groping being done, are talking about the losers about to "grace us with there presence".

"I heard no one goes to their shows." Angela says, "Just their parents."

Sunday grins, "One of them, Butt something, wet himself on stage."

"Hot," Kenny guffaws, his hand slips downward, cradling the small of my back.

Vivi, sitting behind me, leaned over, "In the middle of the last play, the whole set broke! Isn't that right, Indy?" She yells to a heroine-thin guy with spiky blue hair who's sitting next to Christophe.

"Uh-huh," He grunts. "But someone told me-

Thwack! The door bangs against the wall. Dramas have entered.

* * *

**Okay, so no one's confused here's a list of people in the drama club, everyone else is one of the failing kids**

**Lucky Day**

**Iva Marie Odor**

**Cherry**

**Rhiannon Edwards**

**Nikki Alley**

**Marisa Sossani**

**Lurin Horatio**

**Kyle Brofloski**

**Stan Marsh**

**Butters Stotch**

**Token Black**

**Pip Pirrup**


	4. Don't Be Hatin'

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. LEAVE ME ALONE!**

**A/N: Damn! Do I love you loyal reviewers (you know who you are) please marry me? Let me bake for you? Give you a backrub? Read you J.D Salinger? Y'all make me want to break out in a musical number. **

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**Marisa Sossani POV**

I'm used to be stared at, okay? I'm a beautiful girl with a killer sense of fashion, wealth, and the charm of....something really charming. But when I walked into the room it wasn't oh-my-gawd-her-shoes-cost-more-then-my-house envious looks. It was oh-my-gawd-I'm-going-to-kick-her-teeth-in murderous glares. It sent shivers down my spine, and I automatically grabbed Token, leaving french manicure-shaped imprints on his wrist. Icy whispers fluttered around us like butterflies.

"G-golly." Butters said blushing softly.

I smooth my snowy-white mini dress and _ah-dorable_ grey vest with the hand that doesn't have Token in a death grip. He playfully rolls his eyes at my utter terror. "Relax, Mar. It's fine."

Fine? I resist the urge to inform him that Pip is crying quiety.

Mr. Mackey (the butt-face) feels the tension. He m'kays a bit about "introductions" and "getting to know our peers" before rushing out of here. The drama club sits on one side of the room. The delinquents sit on the other.

Silence. Scared, shocked silence.

* * *

**Lucy Montgomery POV**

Someone had to do something. Five seconds and we were all going to leap up and bite each others faces off. I like my face. And 'sides I know Token and Lucky...we were friends. No. We ARE friends.

So, even though my cute little Craig-Berry bf will probably be p-i-s-s-e-d, I stand up and act fudging civil.

"Hiya, I'm Lucy." My smile is wider then the Chesire Cat. So wide my face might crack.

Nada. Nothing. I'm the invisible girl.

A girl steps out of the other mass. Her hair is an explosion of color and she looks pissed. Uberly pissed. "_Craig."_

Craig? My Craig?

He stands up, his eyes nothing more the violet slits and his lips raised into a snarl. "_Rhiannon." _I've heard that name before. But the context has never been nice...or family-friendly for that matter.

Apparently in the 7th grade Craig, being the stubborn and slightly moronic person he is, caused a conflict between himself and the band "Killer Klowns". Which he later quit because of said conflict. You know what it was about? Kool Aide. Someone had drunk his Kool Aide. And he will not. let. it. go.

"How's being an asshole going?" Rhiannon yowled. Stan and Kyle are at her flanks, their arms crossed.

"How's being a lying thief going?" The rainbow haired female raised a fist. The crowd rose.

Another girl with long, curly red hair and a face that suggested gentleness laid a slender hand on Rhiannon's back, she bristled for a second. Then let the other pull her back into the safety of the middle.

There was yet another chilly quietness before Lucky gave me a forced smile. "Hey Luce." She said, then whirled to face everyone. "I'm Lucky Day. Um...why don't y'all introduce yourself..starting with," She pointed to an underweight redhead with angry brown eyes. She radiated a cold, twisted aura, "you."

"My name is Constance Valentine. My hobbies are violin, piano, and vodka. My favorite color is fuck you all."

* * *

**Indigo Kelly POV**

Fucking introductions. They're a pain in movies AND real life. Especially when half the people you meet should be in a mental ward.

If you're wondering, no. No things _didn'_t cool down after the "fuck you" incident. Kenny, Stan, and Kyle made each other miserable. Craig and Rhiannon were as civil as rhinos. Vivi insisted on telling everyone my nickname was "Indy". Sunday argued with Nikki. Damien set Pip's shirt on fire. And Shovel-Boy (who I've discovered has a french accent...which distracted me from learning his name) tried to kill me on three seperate occasions. I don't why...I just piss that guy of, I guess.

And now, at four o'clock as I leave the school it starts hailing.

Life hates me.

I'm just a walking awkward pause, two left feet, a pigeon among peacocks, Ringo without the Beatles, the-

Speak of the devil, Shovel-Boy in all his tan, sleep-deprived, cigarette chomping, and intimating glory is standing next to me. Purposely holding his umbrella so that not an inch of it covers me.

"Er. Hi."

"Do not speak to moi."

We stand there some more. And I'm thinking about how as soon as mom comes to pick me up I'm going to run into her volvo, then run into my house, then run into my bed. Lolita, the mutt, can join me, as long as she supplies warmth. But I'm also thinking about kneeing this asshole in the balls.

"Try eet and die." He hisses. Shovel-Boy can read minds too? What's next? Eyes that shoot laser beams?

Be polite. "Ha. So, um, how's life?" Be polite. Be polite. Be polite.

"Vous êtes un idiot. Eet it eez amazing 'ow you manage not to sheet yourself."

"Dude!" I yell, because that was totally the last straw, "What the hell did I do to you? I mean...I mean you don't have to like me but...._GOD!__" _It feels good to be mad, really good.

Shovel-Boy blinks. "Your fly eez unzipped."

Life hates me.


	5. Hosers

**Disclaimer: Disclaimeriffic. **

**A/N: Here's another one! Enjoy, enjoy and for god's sake REVIEW. They make me ever so happy.....OH! Another thing, due to many revisions Christophe is once again....pairable. So yeah. If you expressed any sadness about him being all "off limits" then I'll assume that your oc likes the lad. **

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**Butters Stotch POV (cause I'm cool like that)**

When life gives you lemons, well golly, you make lemonade. I may just do hair and make up but I know that. I know that well.

So even if the bad seeds are in it...this is gonna be the best darn-tootinest production ever! Kyle has already picked out the _perfect_ play, kinda ironic too. It's going to be Romeo and Juliet. Shucks, doesn't the name just give you shivers?

Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet.

Mom and dad don't like me in the show, they say, "Butters, if you indulge in any kind of art, why, you're grounded mister!" and "Gay boys go to their room without dinner!"

So I lie. It makes my soul itchy and my tummy ache but I lie. "Football practice" I tell 'em. "Volunteer work". Mom and dad nod a bit and go back to their books. Sometimes it scares me how much I fib. It makes me wonder if god might punish me or somethin'.

"_You're such a bastard!" _I hear mom yelling and a glass breaking.

While the two fight downstairs, I draw a smooth white face on a blank piece of paper. Empty almond eyes, colorless lips. Then I take out the make up case everyone chipped in to buy for me and practice doing elizabethan times make up and hairdos. Tudor green eyeshadow, bold dark eyebrows, blood red lipstick, and brown-black eyeliner. Golly, I've outdone myself I have.

But as I doodle longer the face becomes more clear. The smile turns snarkier, the face softer, the eyes wider and more playful.

I-it's Nikki Fox. The gal I've been sweet on since the second grade.

Nikki Fox. Nikki Fox. Nikki Fox.

* * *

**Vivi Sykes POV**

"Ya got anything to eat Stripy?" Indy asked as he rifled through my fridge.

I shrug and go back to the homework we're supposed to be doing. It's good to have Indigo back as my SBFF, for a while we had sort of drifted apart. Mainly I started hanging out with Christophe and he hung out with...um...people.

"Yogurt..." He mutters, "yogurt....milk....salad....tomatoes....AH HA! Found Theo's chocolate stash!"

Smiling he comes back to the dinning room table with a huge pile of cold candy. "Amaztastical." I grin.

Indy begin talking at once. "Okay," He says. "the weirdest thing happened to me on friday. The french guy, you know him? Well I was waiting outside and he-"

My phone interrupts him, I pick it up quickly.

"Ahoy."

"Hi Vivi, this is Lucky, Lucy gave me your number."

"Hey Lucky." Indy gives me the ultimate "WTF" look.

"Wanna go to Whistlin' Willy's with me, Lucy and Rhiannon? Twelve-ish?"

I gape like a fish, she wants to be seen with us IN PUBLIC? Isn't that social sucide? "S-sure. But Indigo's coming too."

"Who?"

* * *

**Rhiannon's POV**

"Blimey! This is social suicide!" I groan and rest my chin on our table, practically in the pepperoni pizza. A perfectly nice lunch with video games, karaoke, and whistling waiters shot to bloody hell.

"Be nice." Lucky huffs, "We might as well get to know 'em....it could be fun."

"Goody goody gumdrops, it sounds like a fantabulous blast. I'm ever so excited." She smiles at my sarcasm. Sometimes I dislike that easy-going, cheerful personality. Would it kill her to be as depressed as the rest of us?

"Shh!" She yells suddenly. "They're here!"

The three of them enter and Lucky waves them over to us. I groan.

"Yo, Lucky. Rhiannon." Lucy says warmly, like we've been friends since forever. Vivi greets her the same way and offers me a wave. The blue haired one looks like there are huge metal rods up his arse.

Immediately Lucky, Lucy, and Vivi are chatting and laughing loudly. Me and what's-his-name are having a silent glaring contest.

Lucy pipes up excitedly "Oh my gawd! We've got to do karoke!"

I can't help but grin. This might not be as bad as I thought.....

* * *

**Jude Monroe's POV**

I like getting high on the playground. It's weird but true. I sit on the slide and roll blunts, savoring the absurdity of it. In fact, that's what I was doing when Tweek Tweak, Clyde Donovan, and Craig Tucker approached me. You see, not only am I a user. I'm a pusher too.

"What will it be boys?" I ask, cutting right to the chase.

They look at each other. "Actually..." Clyde begins, "We kinda want the, uh, key."

"Ngh." The twitchy one agrees.

By "the key" they mean the janitor's keys. Which I have because Mr. Johnson had a strong urge to spark a doobie last week. So did Mr. Mackey. And Principal Victoria. And Mr. Garrison. That's the reason I'm on the honor roll, gotta love guilt.

"Kids, kids, kids, when will you learn to just _chill_? Being a hooligan is so last year. "

"The key." Craig deadpans, though for I know that could be his version of polite. "Now."

"It'll cost ya." I sing.

Tweek reaches into the pocket of his coffee stained, too big jeans and pulls out a wad of twenties. I pull out the keys, which since I'm totally stoned, look like they're wiggling like fish on hooks.

The three (two actually, I think Tweek was having a small seizure) smirk at each other. Me thinks evil is going underway.

* * *

**Stan POV**

"Dude."

"Dude."

"_Dude."_

"It's so-"

"I know."

I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear as I shoo away another hord of brats. A job at Whistlin' Willy's. Seemed fun at first; free pizza and beer for my buddies. But now I've realized what it actually is. Hell.

"I say them. With the enemies. Singing _Poker Face_ for chrissakes."

I can actually feel Kyle shuddering. Hearing about our people... with those people. The both of us have given our freaking reputations for this club, our freaking lives. Kyle's mom is certain that he's gay and started a AIDS charity in his honor!

And this is how we're repaid? Weak. I thought that Lucky would at least- nevermind.

"Dude." I say sullenly.

"Dude."

* * *

**Sunday Jones POV**

A computerized voice shrieks at me, "YOU'VE GOT MAIL!" I put my legs up on my desk as I read it.

_Frenchie. Do not go to rehearsals. _

_Clyde._

Written rather poetically, eh? Love that hoser to death. I check the forwarding addresses, he's sent this email to all of the failers (and all of my friends). What are you planning Clyde? 


	6. This Means War

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed**

**A/N: Like anyone gives a you-know-what.**

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**Love's POV**

I hum a few bars of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" and peer into the auditorium's window. There they are, my pretty little chickens. My beauties. Those plucky young thespians.

I watch Lucky laugh as she passes out scripts, Butters and Pip knitting a sweater, Token is rereading Malcom X's biography, and Kyle fiddle with his glorious jewfro as Lurin lights incense and hums. A normal Drama Club meeting.

But where were those, er, "freaks"? Losers? Purple-hued fustilarians? Whatever you hip children call each other these days. I was really looking forward to seeing the carnage. Kiddies are to overreaction and scorn as birds are flight, you know. "_The world is full of pots jeering at kettles."_ That's from the _Maxims, _now don't forget it.

Teenagers. Something about them. So angst-ridden. So foolish. So wonderfully, sweetly, and endearingly young. Like puppies, tripping over their paws and tumbling into gardens.

I pause, I really am a sensitive (and magnificent) soul. If this matchmaking venture doesn't work out I could always be a poet.

Rachel Hayes sees me and her green eyes widen, a frown forms on her pretty, creamy face.

Rachel has always, and will always, be my favorite human. There is something so fun about teasing the lass. She'll try to be cold and polite but that irish temper-that terrific irish temper-will flare and those emerald orbs will glow like coals. Sure, she'll will call me annoying or childish. Silly, petty, that sort of thing. But the girl is fond of my playful jibes, I'm positive.

If she keeps making that horrible face it will freeze like that.

* * *

**Cherry Hayes's POV**

Oh please. Oh please no. I'm sure that's not him. It can't be. I've had a perfect week. I could shower without worry. I could _undress,_ for heaven's sake.

Oh please, please, please. Anyone but him.

Quickly I rise from my seat and scurry out the door. Some people say love is everywhere. He literally is.

"Rachel!" The man cries, his violet eyes aglitter and framed by smudged spectacles.

"Hello."

"You don't sound very passionate, ducky. It hurts my feelings...it really does...don't roll your eyes, Rachel!"

"Don't call me Rachel. It's been Cherry for years."

He paused and pushed up his scratched spectacles, "Rachel suits you better."

"I think Wuvy sounds good for you."

"I thought young'uns were supposed to respect adults!"

"No one ever taught me to respect strange men who hang around a school."

"Tch. That's mean, Rachel. Why are you mean? I blame all those food-flavored lip glosses..."

This is us being very friendly. Someday, I imagine, we'll drop the civilties and mimic each other's words in squeaky voices.

"So," I sigh, "What can I help you with today, Love? Company for a dinner date? Coat shopping? Another game of checkers?"

Love smoothes down his yellowing and once regal button down shirt (the one with ruffles I notice, grimacing) his limp curls, tied with a red velvety bow that matches his coat, move softly in the breeze. The old glasses slip down the slope of his nose. "No, dear. I just thought I'd pop in. Say hello. Inflict the fires of passion in a few hearts. That sort of thing..." Love glances at the window behind my head. "Oh! Will you look at that that..."

I whirl around and glimpsed into the glass. What I had left as a calm, ordinary rehearsal had turned into an explosion of candy-colored smoke. Stink bombs. Cherry bombs. Pepper Bombs. I-Don't-Know-What Bombs. Erupting with a loud pop.

This prank must have been carefully planned. Lord knows how they had gotten a hold of the janitor's key and unlocked the auditorium. How they had hidden the weapons of mass annoyance. How they had artfully timed it. For a few seconds I watched in awe at the almost-beauty of the mushroom clouds. The chaos.

Then, with a sudden jolt, I realized something. This wasn't just a harmless joke, this was a declaration of war between two cliches. Something to prove that _the others_ were resentful of hapless nerds who had, as it seemed, been in on the scheme to punish them.

Iva Marie Odor limps out and wheezes to me (Love has slunk into a shadow or so, probably to scold Fate), "Those dicks are gonna _die."_

* * *

**Craig Tucker's POV**

Doing laundry with my girlfriend, usually the only part of the day I actually don't hate, now just a miserable as anything else. Damn Lucy Montgomery. Thanks to her constant sighing and glaring I know own seven pairs of pink briefs, a black jacket speckled with bleach stains, and enough shrunken pants to supply an army of gnomes. Actually an army of elves would be pretty bad ass, they could totally, like-

Back on topic.

"Cragicorn," She muses to me while folding a pair of ruined Terrance&Philip boxers. Her eyebrows began to furrow, I know this look. It means I've done something stupid or douchebaggy and she's pissed. "I think what you and Clyde did was kinda shitty"

Before I say anything I try to remember the _Dr Spunknik's Living With Anger Issues: How to Disagree But Not Dismember _audio tape I listened to last night. After that one thing with Bill and Fosse I've been considered "dangerous" and apparently "More pissy then a PMSing Rhino". Stupid assholes. I'd like to-

_Breathe in. And breathe out._

I breathe in. And breathe out. "I think those assholes got what they deserved."

She pauses, "But some of those actress-girls seemed pretty cool! Do you know how long it takes to get that smell out of your hair?"

_Try to emphasize with the other the best you can._

I try to emphasize with the other the best I can, "No. No I do not how long it takes to get that smell out of my hair. It must be unpleasant... But still, the Drama Club is full of snots, Lucy. Rich, faux-intellectual snots. Jerks like Stan."

"This is about the Kool Aid, isn't it? I know it is. Seriously, you need to let it go! It's getting stupid, Craigicorn."

Slam! I leap off the dryer. "STUPID? I-" _Refrain from raising your voice. Express your feelings in a polite, calm way. _I speak in a soft whisper. "I mean, that issue is sensitive to me. Please do not bring that into this... sweetheart."

"I'm just saying." Lucy shrugs. "That it's a silly thing to fight about."

_If the conversation is taking a direction that might lead to a tense situation, simply say: "Though I disagree, your opinion is still valued and one I respect. Perhaps we could talk about this some other time?"_

"Though I disagree, your opinion is still valued and one I respect. Perhaps we could talk about this some other time?"

_Now shake hands._

I do my best to smile and grab her smooth, manicured hand. Thanks to the Good Doctor (well not THE Good Doctor. Though it would be fucking awesome if he came to South Park and we could...oh fuck off.) All that pacifist stuff might get me laid.

Lucy's face glows, she puts on her Miss America smile, flutters her lashes, and kicks me in the shins. God damn it. I forgot while I've been listening to soothing music SHE'S been watching kickboxing tapes.

* * *

**Guh, sorry this took so long! I love you, Soquedhozi and Leo-kid for finally getting me to write this. Now please, no more Brad Pitt faces...they frighten me.**


End file.
